


Hold On to Me

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amputation, Field Surgery, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Poison, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Shiro knows what he has to do. He knows but God, God this iswrong. Hecan’t. Keith is soscaredand he’s in so much pain and there has to be something else even though Shiro knows there isn’t. They’re out of time and it’s Keith’s life or it’s his arm. And if those are the only two choices then there’s only one real answer.
Relationships: Keith & Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 78





	Hold On to Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** mid-later season two  
>  **Warning notes:** Blood

_“Do not get stung by the Marana Beetle.”_

It was the one warning the locals had given them.

_“Its venom burns with the strength of a thousand suns.”_

Keith’s whimper was barely audible but Shiro heard it as though it had been a scream, knowing that’s what it felt like.

_“The venom travels slowly, but it is fatal once it reaches the heart.”_

The black lines were halfway up Keith’s arm.

_“We have medicine but it must be administered here, in the village, for it cannot be moved. But even then… it might be too late.”_

Shiro didn’t believe in ‘too late.’

He couldn’t.

Keith’s life depended on it.

And so he was running as fast as he could through the dense jungle, tripping over tree roots and dodging vines, Keith slung over his shoulder, and praying somehow he would make it back in time.

Because Keith couldn’t…

He couldn’t...

“Sh-Shiro,” Keith’s voice was high and breathless and tinging upwards with panic. “Shiro, I’m gonna be—”

Shiro came to an abrupt halt, practically swinging Keith to the ground, just as the sound and smell of vomit filled the air. 

Shiro rubbed a hand on Keith’s back — armor gone, lighter to carry, not like it had protected him — murmuring nonsense and apologies as he knew along with the pain Keith was in his jostling hadn’t helped.

“Sorry,” Keith choked out, still hunched over on the ground, trembling, and only Shiro’s hold about his waist keeping him upright. 

God…

This was…

Keith heaved again, the motion making the sick black lines up his right arm seem to dance like flames and Keith let out another choked cry.

How had…

How had one bug done _this?_

The beetle — about the size of a kiwi and covered in little yellow and red nubs all over a black body — had landed on Keith’s outstretched hand while he was in the process of plucking the special fruit they’d responded to a distress beacon to retrieve. 

They’d been told in the event they saw the beetle to hold still, not antagonize it, and it should fly off as it was attracted to moving prey, not stationary.

In hindsight they should have just killed it. 

Keith hadn’t moved, Shiro had frozen too, and it hadn’t mattered. The beetle had made one circuit across Keith’s hand, fluttered its wings…

And then Keith had shouted — pain and surprise — and jerked his hand backwards as the beetle took into the air. Shiro had been at his side within a breath as Keith fumbled off his glove, his whole hand shaking, to reveal a tiny red, irritated dot. 

A dot that apparently meant death.

Shiro had a moment to think maybe it was an exaggeration, maybe the sting wasn’t fatal to humans (or Galrans) and everything was going to be fine before Keith had sucked in a harsh breath and a black spot had appeared, lengthening along the nearest vein.

 _“Shiro,”_ had come the smallest whisper Shiro had heard from Keith in, in _years,_ and purple eyes had met his, something more than pain and surprise swimming in them.

Fear.

Shiro had never wanted to see such a thing again.

 _“You’re going to be okay,”_ Shiro had promised because it had to be, it had to, and he would do _anything_ to take away that expression. “ _Everything is going to be okay. We’ll get back to the Village and they’ll heal you. You’re going to be okay.”_

They were nearly three hours out from the village but that had been them meandering a bit, cutting a path through the vegetation. Going back should be easier.

Until it wasn’t.

They’d broken into a jog, as quick as they could manage with the uneven ground, Keith cradling his hand against his chestplate, and Shiro in the lead, when not even ten minutes in Keith had stumbled. 

The short scream he’d made as he caught himself on his hands was burned into Shiro’s memory, as surely as the black line crawling up towards Keith’s wrist and more wrapping around his hand to his palm.

It continued to spread even as Shiro tied a tourniquet higher up on his arm, hoping the slower blood flow would slow the venom.

Keith continued to fall.

The last time had drawn tears Keith could no longer hold back.

Shiro had made them pause, stripped off Keith’s outer armor to make him lighter, cut off the right sleeve up to his shoulder (if the black lines made it that far then… then… God, he couldn’t even think about it) and hauled him over his own shoulder as it was clear Keith wasn’t going to be able to hold on to him on his own but he still needed at least one arm free to cut through hanging vines.

And he had run.

And run and run and run and no matter how fast he went he could feel time ticking by too slow and too fast all at once.

And now…

Shiro stared at the black lines, at just over an hour already over halfway up Keith’s arm.

At this pace…

At this rate…

They weren’t going to make it back.

And then…

Then…

Keith would die.

He would _die_.

Shiro tasted bile himself and his grip tightened around Keith, done heaving now and merely shaking, breath coming in harsh pants, kneeling on the ground with Shiro crouched beside him.

Unless…

Oh God.

Unless…

Shiro’s gaze cut from Keith’s right arm to his own where he knew beneath the Paladin underarmor there was a harsh line where metal met flesh at his bicep.

Unless….

God, this wasn’t…

It would be nearly the same spot, the same arm.

God.

He couldn’t.

But if he didn’t…

It was Keith’s life…

Or his arm.

God.

God, how could he…?

Shiro struggled to draw a breath.

Calm.

He had to be calm.

No…

No matter what. 

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep inhale of Keith’s hair — sweat and soap — and the jungle around them.

Not cold metal.

Not cold fingers or a colder laugh.

Not whatever memory lurked just out of reach that he was too afraid to go after.

Focus.

Calm.

He…

He had to do this.

“Keith.”

He sounded too flat.

Shiro swallowed and tried again. “Keith. We’re… we’re not going to make it back, buddy.”

Not in time.

Keith didn’t disagree, no doubt realizing the same. 

“I…”

God.

“I… I need your knife.”

Keith froze mid-tremble. 

He turned his head and pinpricked eyes met Shiro’s at what was being asked.

What was being implied.

“No,” it was more a breath than a word. “N-no. Shiro, no. We, we can m-make—” he broke off with a whimper, eyes squeezing shut.

A tear still tracked down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Shiro whispered. “God, Keith. I’m, I’m so sorry. But… but if we don’t then…”

He couldn’t say it aloud.

He knew Keith knew.

“No,” Keith moaned, shaking his head and eyes back open, bright with tears with tears and pain. “Shiro, no. Please. Please.”

Shiro felt his heart break.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. 

Keith let out a low sob, head dropping.

He didn’t protest again. 

The knife was on his belt holster next to his bayard, the two things Shiro hadn’t left behind as they were both too dangerous and too personal to do so, and he reached a trembling hand to unhook the Marmoran luxite blade that could cut through anything.

Like bone.

Keith shook but didn’t stop him.

“I’ll knock you out,” Shiro said quietly.

It was all he could offer and even then it might not be enough, it wasn’t enough.

He was going to...

Keith gave a violent shake of his head. “N-no. I… I can’t… Shiro, _please_.” 

He was so _scared._

Shiro set the knife on the ground and then pulled Keith fully into his arms.

The boy shook like a leaf even as his own arms rose up — the black lines now past his elbow — to wrap around Shiro’s back.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Keith. But…” his arms tightened as did his voice. “I can’t… I can’t lose you. And, and if I don’t do this…”

They both knew how that sentence ended.

“Don’t…” Keith’s voice was muffled against his chest. “Don’t knock me out. Please. I, I don’t want to… to… wake up and…”

“It’s going to hurt,” Shiro whispered.

His eyes were stinging. 

God.

 _Why?_ Why Keith?

“I know,” came back the small response. 

Shiro understood.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s… let’s get you lying down then—”

“Please,” Keith interrupted. “Just… just another m-minute?”

His right hand spasmed against Shiro’s back.

Shiro understood that too.

He held Keith as tight as Keith clung to him, trying to prepare himself for what he had to do. He could not afford to lose focus, to lose control, to lose composure. 

But at two minutes Shiro knew he could not put it off any longer and Keith knew it too as he lied down on his back as Shiro directed, right arm stretched out to the side. Shiro took his own position, kneeling in the ground between Keith’s arm and his body, preparing to hold down at Keith’s shoulder with his prosthetic while his left hand made the cut.

First though, he was heating the blade, luxite hovering over his glowing prosthetic, as it would help to cauterize the wound and, hopefully, be enough so Shiro wouldn’t have to…

He swallowed, already imagining fingerprints burned into the stump left behind.

“Keith,” Shiro called gently where Keith’ had his eyes closed, chest rising rapidly, “look at me, buddy.”

Those same scared eyes of before met his.

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”

Keith gave a jerky nod.

“Don’t… don’t look.”

Please don’t let him look.

Keith gave another small nod.

Thank God.

Shiro transferred the nearly glowing blade to his left hand, hilt hot but not unbearable, and clamped his prosthetic down on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith shuddered, another tear trekking down his cheek.

Shiro forced himself to look away, to look instead at the sick black lines, and positioned the knife a few inches above to make sure he got it all. 

“On three,” he said, both for his own benefit and Keith’s.

“One…”

He lowered the blade.

“Two…”

He desperately tried not to shake. 

He was saving Keith’s life.

And whatever came afterwards…

They would get through it together.

“Three.”

Shiro pressed the heated blade into Keith’s arm.

It cut through the flesh like butter, sticking for only a second at bone.

Keith _screamed,_ body jerking and head thrown back and Shiro grit his teeth and pushed down harder on the knife, harder on Keith’s shoulder, as the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

His stomach rolled.

Keith screamed again.

Not even five seconds later Keith’s venom-tainted arm was lying on the ground and the stump left behind was a burnt and bloody mess.

And it was still bleeding.

Shiro choked out an apology as he brought the still heated knife back, pressing the flat edge to the open wound.

Keith had stopped screaming, stopped thrashing, his body now just giving little twitches and breathless whimpers pulled from his lips as Shiro made sure the bleeding had stopped.

Only then did he drop the knife, allow himself to look at what remained.

It looked horrible.

But…

But there were no black lines.

There was no venom.

Keith was…

He would be okay.

But…

He’d still…

Shiro put off anything further for the moment as he concentrated on wrapping the stump with the earlier cut off underarmor so the raw flesh wasn’t exposed.

And now…

He swallowed and lifted his gaze upwards to Keith’s face…

Where two half-lidded, tear-reddened eyes were looking at him.

“Keith,” Shiro whispered.

“Sh-Shiro,” came the whimper and the boy’s left arm gave a jerky twitch at his side.

Shiro carefully helped him sit up, gathering him once more into his arms although the hold was more gentle than before and Keith’s left fingers latched into his chestplate with an exhausted sob.

“I’ve got you,” Shiro gently rocked him. “I’ve got you.” 

He pressed a kiss to the top of the dark head and hugged Keith tighter.

“I’ve got you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fic request of Keith amputation + Shiro. If you enjoyed the work it would mean a lot to hear from you in the comments. I adore detailed comments but even a short and sweet thank you means a lot. Thank you ♥


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